I was in psych class last week. I attend sometimes, but not as often as I should. I know pretty much everything we go over, so class is fairly boring.

If I do attend, I sit and write or draw. It seems like I've been drawing forever. It really is a passion of mine, to sit and pour my soul out through ink onto paper. I always start with a clear mind. I just let my hand go and then refine what develops out of my rambling sketches. It's refreshing to see something come out of nothingness.

So, I was sketching in psych class last week when the professor holds up a sketch. "This," he says, "is a drawing my darling son did of two trees when he was 5. Notice that only the greatest details are shown. He drew the family in. Look at how the heads are larger and the hands and feet don't even seem to have ends to them. This is an unconscious statement of the idea that he and his family and the trees are all that his world represents. There is nothing else out there."

He held up another sheet of paper. " This," he went on, "is a drawing my same son did when he was 10, twice as old. It is, again, of the same two trees and it has him and his dog instead of the whole family. The features are more defined. There are leaves and bark lines, and the dog wears a collar. This represents all that makes him happy. He is happiest out of doors with his favorite canine companion."

He held up a third sheet. "This," he stated, "is a drawing my son did when he was 15. Same two trees, but this time there is only himself. There is clear, adult detailing in this one. He used different shading techniques to give it a real look. Perspective is cleaner, as are the proportions. In this one, though, there is only himself. This represents his feelings of alienation at that age. His dog has died, his family 'hates' him, and all he has left are the trees."

All throughout his lecture, I felt my hands moving, but I didn't see what they were doing. They raced across the paper. When I looked down, I had drawn two trees. There was no person, but there was a cemetery. It represented my discovery of death, mortality, and finality. Even when we all die, there will still be the trees, waiting for the next little boy to draw them.

I signed my drawing and placed it carefully in my bag. I felt the professor looking at me as I left. "Did you enjoy the lecture?" he asked me. I smiled and nodded but said nothing. I had learned a lot today. Who knew that my dad's psych class could be so educational?